Bolder beat the breasts of Norsemen—­when
  amid the tuneful din
Open sprang the heavy hall-doors, and a
  stranger entered in. 
Tall his growth, though low he bended o’er a
  twisted staff of oak,
And his stalwart shape was folded in a dun,
  unseemly cloak.

Straight the Earl his voice uplifted:  “Hail
  to thee, my guest austere! 
Drain with me this cup of welcome:  thou shalt
  share our Yule-tide cheer. 
Thou shalt sit next to my high-seat e’en
though lowly be thy birth,
For to-night our Lord, the Savior, came a
stranger to his earth.”

Up then rose the gentle Swanwhite, and her
  eyes with fear grew bright;
Down the dusky hall she drifted, as a shadow
  drifts by night. 
“If my lord would hold me worthy,” low she
  spake, “then grant me leave
To abide between the stranger and my lord,
  this Christmas eve.”

“Strange, O guest, is women’s counsel, still
  their folly is the staff
Upon which our wisdom leaneth,” and he
  laughed a burly laugh;
Lifted up her lissome body with a husband’s
  tender pride,
Kissed her brow, and placed her gently in the
  high-seat at his side.

But the guest stood pale and quivered, where
  the red flames roofward rose,
And he clenched the brimming goblet in his
  fingers, fierce and close,

Then he spake:  “All hail, Earl Sigurd,
  mightiest of the Norsemen, hail! 
Ere I name to thee my tidings, I will taste thy
  flesh and ale.”

Quoth the merry Earl with fervor:  “Courteous
  is thy speech and free: 
While thy worn soul thou refreshest, I will
  sing a song to thee;
For beneath that dusky garment thou mayst
  hide a hero’s heart,
And my hand, though stiff, hath scarcely yet
  unlearned the singer’s art.”

Then the arms so tightly folded round his neck
  the Earl unclasped,
And his heart was stirred within him as the
  silvern strings he grasped,
But with eyes of meek entreaty, closely to his
  side she clung,
While his mighty soul rose upward on the
  billows of the song.

For he sang, in tones impassioned, of the death
  of Aesir bright,
Sang the song of Christ the glorious, who was
  born a babe to-night,

How the hosts of heaven victorious joined the
  anthem of his birth,
Of the kings the starlight guided from the far
  lands of the earth.

And anon, with bodeful glamour fraught, the
  hurrying strain sped on,
As he sang the law of vengeance and the wrath
  forever gone,
Sang of gods with murder sated, who had laid
  the fair earth waste,
Who had whetted swords of Norsemen,
  plunged them into Norsemen’s breast.

But he shook a shower of music, rippling from
  the silver strings,
And bright visions rose of angels and of fair
  and shining things
As he sang of heaven’s rejoicing at the mild
  and bloodless reign
Of the gentle Christ who bringeth peace and
  good-will unto men!